He walked all neighborhoods,
all he did was roam.
He seemed to be homeless,
but he did have a home.
I was just a child then,
and kids can be mean.
If I remember correctly,
I was under thirteen.
We used vulgar language,
as we teased poor old Ed.
Sometimes he chased us,
or keep walking instead.
Quite a few years later,
we talked about Nam.
He told me some stories,
then offered his palm.
I shook his hand quickly,
his grip was so strong.
I remembered my actions,
my heart felt so wrong.
A soldier not by choice,
but a soldier non the less.
I made him fell anger,
maybe even worthless.
He faught for us bravely,
in a far away place.
America welcomed him,
by spitting in his face.
Dear walking Eddie,
I'm sorry I wronged you.
I know you lived bravely,
I know you served true.
If you're not walking,
if you're no longer steppin',
I sure you are well,
I'm sure your walking in Heaven.
I'm sorry Battle.
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Comments about this poem (Walking Eddie by rico avila )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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